


Clean up

by Lizardbeth



Category: Nikita (TV 2010), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alphabet Soup Challenge, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to clean up NID and the Trust, Barrett finds out he's not as alone as he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Alphabet Soup/Gen Fic Day 2011. 
> 
> Another fic I missed archiving (posted 2015 and backdated back to 2011).

  
Malcolm Barrett, Assistant Director of NID Special Projects, got his coffee and started for the train station, keeping his head down and wishing he'd brought a scarf. The clouds promised snow eventually, but for now the storm was bringing only an icy wind that cut through his coat as if it wasn't there.  
  
There was a woman in a long, puffy black coat, leggings, and boots to his left, in the alcove of the stationery store entrance. He started to pass her, thinking of his meeting later, when she spoke in a dry voice, "You should try shaking up your routine once in a while."  
  
He automatically reached for his weapon and cursed himself when he realized it was holstered under his suit jacket and he'd have to unbutton his trench to get to it. Next time, assuming there was a next time, he needed to put his weapon where he could get to it.  
  
Her gloved hand was there anyway, tight fingers holding his hand still. He looked into her face - she was almost as tall as he was. Her face was Chinese, framed by long black hair and punctuated by fierce dark eyes.  
  
"Don't," she warned quietly. "I'm here to talk."  
  
"About what?" he asked. He remembered seeing that face from somewhere, but not relating to anything he had to deal with personally. Not NID, not the Trust, not the Stargate program -- some inter-agency bulletin he'd looked at once maybe...  
  
"You've been cleaning up NID," she said. "Which is way overdue. But you're also pushing parts of it deeper into the shadows."  
  
The Trust, in other words, he thought, and nodded. "I know. But I can't get them all."  
  
"No. And some parts won't let you get them."  
  
"Are you threatening me?" he asked, keeping his voice level. "Because I'm not going to back off."  
  
She gave a little smile and then let go of his hand. "Neither am I. We have something in common. I'm going to take down Division."  
  
He started in surprise. Now there was a name to bring a chill to the heart of anyone in the business. "Division?" he repeated. It didn't need another name-- it had started as the Black Ops wing of NID, but been formally disbanded even before his tenure. "It still exists?"  
  
She nodded once, not taking her eyes from him.  
  
"How do you know?" he demanded.  
  
"Because I used to work for them," she answered, not surprisingly, then gave a little chuckle. "They're not happy I escaped."  
  
"No, they wouldn't be," he agred and couldn't help a glance around, for anyone observing them. There was no one in view, but he moved deeper into the alcove. He already knew, but had to ask to confirm it, "Assassinations? Black Ops? All that?"  
  
"All that and worse," she confirmed. "No accountability, services for hire."  
  
His mouth twisted in disgust. "They've gone rogue?"  
  
She nodded and flicked her gaze to the reflection in the window, checking behind her. "Percy's got so much dirt on various power brokers, the government will likely collapse before he goes down. That's what makes it ... tricky."  
  
He nodded. Division was where the Trust was getting their murder squads, he would bet. And if there was a connection, then there was likely a Goa'uld involved in Division. "More of these bastards," he muttered.  
  
She flashed a smile, amused by his surly comment. She was beautiful when she smiled. And he suddenly remembered where he'd seen her before. A bulletin with her picture had popped up in his e-mail about six months ago.  
  
She said, "I knew I was right to approach you. But just like that? You believe me?"  
  
He shrugged under his coat. "It's another piece of the rogue op I'm already tracking, I think." He paused and said deliberately, "Nikita."  
  
Her smile widened, pleased, not worried that he knew. "You did recognize me."  
  
"I saw the kill order. It claims you're a traitor, a terrorist, a spy for the Chinese, plus murder, kidnapping and probably something about overdue library books; I didn't look at it that closely," he told her dryly and made no move toward his weapon, so she would know he had no intention of trying anything.  
  
She tensed only a little, but then relaxed again at his little joke. "Wise of you not to buy it."  
  
"I'm sure some of it's true," he countered, "I'm not that naïve. But I don't take orders from shady organizations. What do you need?"  
  
She answered promptly, "Surveillance packages. I can't cut off the head of the snake yet, but I can disrupt their ops if I have equipment."  
  
He was relieved she didn't ask for weapons. "I can do that. But I want to know who you're working for."  
  
"No one," she answered. "I'm on my own."  
  
He didn't quite believe that, since she had to have some support, but he also knew her support couldn't be large, not with a national security level kill order on her. But it didn't matter, since he believed the part about Division. He was going to look into it. "Not anymore. Give me a week, I'll see what I can do."  
  
"Good. I'll get in touch." She glanced over her shoulder then back to him. "I should go. If they find out you're helping me, you're a dead man."  
  
He gave a little shrug. That was nothing new, not after fighting traitors and Goa'uld infiltrators all these years. "Watch your back, Nikita."  
  
"You, too, Malcolm," she wished him, making it clear she knew him, too, and walked away, heading back toward the coffee shop.  
  
He gave her two minutes to clear out of the area and then continued to the station. His coffee had grown cold, but that didn't matter.  
  
He had plenty to think about.


End file.
